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ARMSTRONG iCO.BOSTON. 



SLY BALLADES IN HARVARD 



V 



CHINA 



By E^ s/nXl-ilft-^^ 




BOSTON 

A. WILLIAMS AND COMPANY 

Old Corner Bookstore 

1882 



.-^" 



^^^'^^ 



Copyright, 1882, 
Br A. WILLIAMS & CO. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 

SLECTROTTPED AND PRINTED BY 

n. 0- HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, 



COIsrTENTS. 



PAGE 

Mixed 5 

Only ^ 

Procul Negotiis ^ ' ' ^ 

The Soxg of the Blood 9 

The Loafer's Lament . 11 

Jilted ^^ 

Broke, Broke, Broke ! . . 15 



Reform 



i: 



A Gum Game 20 

FuiT Ilium 22 

Epithalamium . . .■ 25 

Again '^^ 

32 



Snowbound 
To Mabel . 
Me A Culpa 



35 
39 



A Mortifying Subject 44 

In the Elysian Fields 4^ 



IV CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A Skcoxd Thought 50 

A PUACTICAL QUEOTION 52 

Er Tu, Berghe '? 53 

Insomnia . . 54 

Civil Service . o . 56 

All or Nothing 59 

A Philadelphia Claveruouse 61 

Throwing Stones 63 

Touching Bottom 68 

HoNi SoiT Qui Mal y Pense . 72 

IIis Washerwoman .76 



MIXED. 

Within my earthly temple there 's a crowd : 
There 's one of us that 's humble, one that 's proud ; 
There 's one that 's broken-hearted for his sins, 
And one who, unrepentant, sits and grins ; 
There 's one who loves his neighbor as himself, 
And one who cares for naught but fame and pelf. 
From much corroding care I should be free 
If once I could determine which is Me. 



ONLY. 

Only a small bit of paper, 
With just a few dates, — notliing more, — 
Which at an unfortunate moment 
Glides down from my sleeve to the floor. 

Only an Argus-eyed proctor, 

Who, ever upon the qui vive, 

Picks up, with suppressed exultation, 

The pajDer which dropped from my sleeve. 

Only four months in the country, — 
An extra vacation, that 's all ; 
But the trade of a proctor still strikes me 
As something exceedingly small. 




THINK that if I had a farm 
I 'd be a man of sense ; 
And if the day was bright and warm 
I 'd sit upon the fence, 
And cahnly smoke a pensive pipe, 
And think about my pigs, 
And wonder if the corn was ripe, 
And counsel Vliomme qui digs. 



PROCUL NEGOTIIS. 

Anil if the clay was wet and cold, 
I think I should admire 
To sit and dawdle over old 
Montaigne, before the fire ; 
And pity boobies who could lie 
And squabble, just for pelf, 
And thank my lucky stars that I 
Was nicely fixed myself. 



THE SONG OF THE BLOOD. 

Some like upon the winding Charles 

To ply the bending oar ; 

Nor reck they if their backs are burned 

And every muscle sore. 

But as for me, it suits me not : 

I '11 ever be content 

To loaf in front of Holworthy, 

And toss the shining cent. 

Some like to hurl the pig-skin sphere 

Ofttimes on Jarvis field ; 

Nor ask a greater pleasure than 

The willow bat to wield. 

But as for me, it suits me best, 

With calm, unruffled mien. 

To loaf in front of Holworthy, 

And gamble on the green. 



10 THE SOXG OF THE BLOOD. 

Some like to grind the livelong day, 
And think it is immense 
To study for their annuals, 
And take in large per cents ; 
But as for me, oh, give me rest. 
And let me, free from care, 
Sit on the steps of Holworthy, 
And take the evening air ! 



THE LOAFER'S LAMENT. 

My heated brain is burning, 
My soul for rest is yearning, 
Speak to me not concerning 

My duties as a grind ; 
But bring the cooling tankard 
For which I long have hankered 
When at my side it 's anchored 

I '11 consolation find. 

Fair Idleness, thou devil ! 
Thou charming sprite of evil ! 
How in tliy charms I '11 revel 

When my degree is won ! 
But if to-day I woo thee, 
To-morrow I shall rue thee. 
With longing eyes I view thee. 

While yet thy spells I shun. 







JILTED. 



Stay me with flagons, . . . for I am sick of love. — Cant. ii. 5. 



To seem gay and youthful I 'm trying, 
But my heart is as old as the hills, 
And I feel that those parties are lying 
Who tell me that grief never kills. 



JILTED. 13 

My story has oft been related ; 
I fit in an old, old groove, 
Since never, as some one lias stated, 
The course of true love ran smooth. 

Susceptible, young, and romantic, 

I thought her an angel of light ; 

And still, save when grief makes rae frantic, 

I firmly believe I was right. 

An angel she was, but the healing 
She bore on her wings was a part 
Of the means that she used for annealing 
Another young man's broken heart. 

And that 's why I say, " Bring on flagons. 
And place them convenient for me ! " 
'T is not that I wish to see dragons 
And snakes, as we do in " D. T." 



14 JILTED. 

No, no : 't is because I would quiet 
This sorrow to which I am linked ; 
While fancy, unshackled, runs riot, 
And memories grow indistinct. 

Let me cherish once more the delusion 
That girls are as true as they seem. 
And, during my mental confusion. 
Imagine it all was a dream. 



BROKE, BROKE, BROKE! 

Broke, broke, broke ! 
I have squandered tlie uttermost sou, 
And have failed in my efforts to utter 
One trivial, last I. O. U. 

Oh, well for the infant in arms 
That for ducats he need not fret ; 
Oh, well for the placid corpse 
That he 's settled his final debt. 

And dun after dun comes in, 

Each bringing his little account ; 

And oh for the touch of a five-dollar bill, 

Or a check for a large amount ! 



16 BROKE, BROKE, BROKE! 

Broke, broke, broke I 

My course as a student is run ; 

I "11 back to my cliiklhood's home, and act 

The rule of the Prodigal Son. 



REFORM. 

Yes, I know that I once was a bummer, 
The laziest drone of the swarm; 
But I tell you I started last summer 
The glorious work of reform. 

As Freshman I swallowed my bitters, 
And thought that I cut quite a dash; 
A Soph'more I raised endless litters 
Of pups, and a feeble mustache ; 

A Junior, — how oft the Dean's letter 
Made the hearts of my parents feel sore ! 
I was young then, but now I know better, 
I'll never do so any more. 
2 



18 REFORM. 

Don't speak of the bliss of potation, 
Don't tell me that lager is cheap : 
Don't hint that I need recreation, 
Nor doubt if I get enough sleep. 

Ere I spend it I look at each nickel 
With fond, parsimonious care; 
P'r'aps you notice how Time's ruthless sickle 
Has shortened the trousers I wear ! 

Am I thin? Quite correct your conjecture. 
Memorial Hall is the place : 
We breakfast upon architecture. 
For luncheon we merely say grace. 

While you, sir, are placidly sleeping 
The sleep of the thoughtless and free, 
A studious party is keeping 
A vigil in my room : That 's me. 



REFORM. - 19 

I know that they were evanescent. 
My many reforms of the past; 
But I feel myself certain, at present, 
That this one is going to last. 




,How sweet, while lingering near a 
cross-walk muddy, 
When Sol in March dissolves the tardy snows. 
To lose one's self in contemplative study! 
Of symmetry which gathered skirts disclose ! 



A GUM GAME. 21 



But how disheartening when, to optics eager 
To glean of patient watchfulness the fruits, 
The petticoat, soil scorning, grants a meagre 
Display of dingy, shapeless rubber boots ! 



FUIT ILIUM. 

Weee you nurtured in the purple ? 
Were you retired a "pampered pet ? 
Did a menial throng encircle 
You, in waiting while you ate? 
When a baby, had you lockets, 
Silver cups and forks and spoons ? 
Were there coins in the pockets 
Of your childhood's pantaloons? 

Did hereditary shekels 

Make your sweethearts deem you fair,' 

Reconcile them to your freckles 

And your carrot-colored hair ? 

In electrifying raiment 

Were you every day attired ? 

Was the promptness of your payment 

Universally admired ? 



FUIT ILIUM. 23 

Did your father, too confiding, 
Sign the paper of his friends ? 
Did his railway-stock, subsiding, 
Cease to pay him dividends ? 
Are his buildings slow in renting ? 
Did his banker pilfer, slope. 
And, absconding, leave lamenting 
Creditors to live on hope? 

Ere you dissipate a quarter 

Do you scrutinize it twice? 

Have you ceased to look on water 

Drinking as a nauseous vice? 

Do you wear your brother's breeches. 

Though the buttons scarcely meet? 

Does the vanity of riches 

Form no part of your conceit? 

I am with you, fellow pauper ! 
Let us share our scanty crust; 



24 FUIT ILIUM. 

Burst the bonds of fiscal torpor, 
Go where beer is sold on trust. 
Let us, freed from res angu^tce^ 
Seek some fair Utopian mead, 
Where the throat is never dusty, 
And tobacco grows — a weed. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 




iHE marriage-bells have rung their 
peal, 

The wedding-march has told its story; 
I 've seen her at the altar kneel 
In all her stainless virgin glory; 
She 's bound to honor, love, obey, 
Come joy or sorrow, tears or laughter. 
I watched her as she rode away, 
And flung the lucky slipper after. 



26 EPirilALAMIUM. 

She Avas my first, my very first, 

My earliest inamorata; 

And to the passion that I nursed 

For her I ahnost was a martyr. 

For I was young, and she was fair, 

And always bright and gay and chipper; 

And oh, she wore such pretty hair ! 

Such silken stockings ! Such a slipper ! 

She did not wish to make me mourn, — 
She was the kindest of God's creatures; 
But flirting was in her inborn, 
Like brains and queerness in the Beechers. 
I do not fear your heartless flirt, — 
Obtuse her dart and dull her probe is; 
But when girls do not mean to hurt, 
But do^ — Orate tunc pro nobis ! 

A most romantic country place ; 

The moon at full, the month of August ; 



EPITHALAMIUM. 27 

An inland lake, across whose face 
Played gentle zephyrs, ne'er a raw gust ; 
Books, boats, and horses, to enjoy 
The which was all our occupation, 
A damsel and a callow boy; — 
There ! Now you have the situation. 

We rode together miles and miles ; 
My pupil she, and I her Chiron. 
At home I reveled in her smiles. 
And read her extracts out of Byron. 
We roamed by moonlight, chose our stars 
(I thought it most authentic billing), 
Explored the woods, climbed over bars, 
Smoked cigarettes, and broke a shilling. 

An infinitely blissful week 

Went by in this Arcadian fashion : 

I hesitated long to speak. 

But ultimately breathed my passion. 



28 EPITHALAMIUM. 

She said her heart was not her own ; 
She said she 'd love me like a sister ; 
She cried a little (not alone) ; 
I told ber not to fret, and — kissed her. 

I lost some sleep, some pounds in weight, 

A deal of time, and all my spirits ; 

And much — how much I dare not state — • 

I mused upon that damsel's merits. 

I tortured my unhappy soul ; 

I wished I never might recover ; 

I hoped her marriage-bells might toll 

A requiem for her faithful lover. 

And now she 's married ; now she wears 
A wedding-ring upon her finger : 
And I — although it odd appears — 
Still in the flesh I seem to linger. 
Lo, there my swallow-tail, and here 
Lies by my side a wedding favor ; 



EPITHALAMIUM. 29 

Beside it stands a mug of beer ; 
I taste it, — how divine it 's flavor! 

I saw her, in her bridal dress. 

Stand pure and lovely at the altar ; 

I heard her firm response — that " Yes " 

Without a quiver or a falter. 

And here I sit and drink to her 

Long life and happiness, God bless her J 

Now fill again ! No heel-taps, sir ! 

Here 's to — success to her successor ! 



AGAIN. 

I WONDER why my brow is burning, 

Why sleep to close my lids forgets ; 

I wonder why I have a yearning 

To smoke incessant cigarettes. 

I wonder why my thoughts will wander, 

And all restraint of mine defy. 

And why — excuse the rhyme — a gander 

Is not more of a goose than I. 

I have an indistinct impression 
I had these symptoms once before, 
And dull discomfort held possession 
Of the same spot that now is sore ; 
That some time, in a past that ranges 
From early whiskers up to bibs, 
My heart was ringing just such changes 
As now, against these self-same ribs. 



AGAIN. 31 

I wish some philanthropic Jenner 
Might vaccinate against these ills, 
And help us keep our noiseless tenor 
Of life submissive to our wills ; 
And, ere our hearts were permeated 
With sentiments too warm by half, 
That we might be inoculated 
With the mild passion of a calf. 



SNOWBOUND. 

A Lmo Office ; tico Briefness Ones ; a Clock strikes. 

JAMES. 

One, two, three, four. It 's four o'clock ; 
There comes the postman round the block, 
And in a jiff we '11 hear his knock 

Most pleasant. 
Inform me, Thomas, will he bring 
To you, deserving no such thing, 
Letters from her whose praises ring 

Incessant ? 

THOMAS. 

Friend of my bosom, James, refrain 
From putting questions fraught with pain. 
And seeking facts I had not fain 
Imparted. 



SNOWBOUND. 

The said official on this stretch 
Will not, in my opinion, fetch 
Such documents to me, a wretch 
Down hearted. 

JAMES. 

Nay ; but I prithee, Thomas, tell 

To me, thy friend, who loves thee well, 

What cause there is for such a fell 

Deprival. 
Why is it that the message fails? 
Have broken ties, or twisted rails. 
Or storm, or snow delayed the mail's 

Arrival ? 

THOMAS. 

Jhou art, O James, a friend indeed 
To probe my wound and make it bleed; 
To know of my affairs thy greed 
Has no bound. 

3 



34 SNOWBOUND. 

The reason why you have not guessed ; 
If storm there were, 'twas in her breast; 
For there my letter, unexpressed. 
Lies snowbound. 



TO MABEL. 




I PON this anniversaree 

My little god-child, aged three, 
These compliments I make to thee. 
Quite heedless. 
And that you '11 throw them now away, 
But treasure them some future day. 
Are platitudes, the which to say 
Is needless. 



36 TO MABEL. 

You small, stout damsel, mickle mou'd, 
With cropped tow-head and manners rude, 
And stormy spirit unsubdued 

By nurses, 
Where you were raised, was it in vogue 
To lisp that Tipperary brogue ? 
Oh, you 're a subject sweet, you rogue, 

For verses ! 

Last Sunday morning, when we stayed 

At home, 3'ou* got yourself arrayed 

In Lyman's clothes, and turned from maid 

To urchin ; 
And when we all laughed at you so 
You eyed outside the falling snow. 
And thought your rig quite fit to go 

To church in. 

Play on ! play on, dear little lass ! 
Play on till sixteen summers pass, 



TO MABEL. 37 

And then I '11 bring a looking-glass, 

And there be- 
Fore you, on your lips, I '11 show 
The curves of small Dan Cupid's bow; 
And then the crop that now is " tow " 

Shall "fair" be. 

And then I '11 show you, too, the charms 
Of small firm hands and rounded arms, 
And eyes whose flashes send alarms 

Right through you ; 
And then a half-regretful sigh 
May break from me to think that I, 
At forty years, can never try 

To woo you. 

What shall I wish you ? Free from ruth 
To live and learn in love and truth 
Through childhood's day and days of youth, 
And school's day ; 



38 TO MABEL. 

For all the days that intervene 
Twixt Mab at three and at nineteen 
Are but one sombre or serene 
All Fool's Day. 



MEA CULPA. 

Theee is a thing, which, in my brain 

Though nightly I revolve it, 

I cannot in the least explain, 

Nor do I hope to solve it. 

While others tread the narrow path, 

In manner meek and pious, 

Why is it that my spirit hatli 

So opposite a bias ? 

Brought up to fear the Lord, and dread 

The bottomless abysm, 

In Watts's hymns profoundly read. 

And drilled in catechism, 

I should have been a model youth, 

The pink of all that 's proper. 

I was not ; but, to tell the truth, 

I did not care a copper. 



40 MEA CULPA. 

I bad no yearnings, Avlien a boy, 
To sport an angel's wrapper. 
Nor heard I with tumultuous joy 
The church-frequenting clapper. 
My actions always harmonized 
With my own sweet volition : 
I always did what I devised, 
But rarely asked permission. 

When o'er the holy book I 'd pore, 
And read of doings pristine, 
I had a fellow-feeling for 
The put-upon Philistine. 
King David gratified my taste, — 
He harped, and danced boleros ; 
But first the Prodigal was placed 
Upon my list of heroes. 
» 

I went to school. To study ? No ! 
I dearly loved to dally 



MEA CULPA. 41 

And dawdle over Ivanhoe, 

Tom Brown, and Charles O'Malley. 

In recitation, I was used 

To halt on every sentence ; 

Repenting, seldom I produced 

Fruits proper for repentance. 

At college, later, I became 

Familiar with my Flaccus ; 

Brought incense to the Muses' flame. 

And sacrificed to Bacchus. 

I flourished in an air unfraught 

With sanctity's aroma ; 

Learned many things I was not taught, 

And captured a diploma. 

I am not well provided for, 
I have no great possessions ; 
I do not like the legal or 
Medicinal professions. 



42 ME A CULPA. 

Were I of good repute, I might 
Take orders as a deacon ; 
But I 'm no bright and shining light, 
But just a warning beacon. 

Though often urged by friends sincere 

To woo some funded houri, 

I cannot read my title clear 

To any damsel's dowry. 

And could to wedlock I induce 

An heiress, I should falter, 

For fear that such a bridal noose 

Might prove a gilded halter. 

My tradesmen have suspicious grown ; 

My friends are tired of giving ; 

Upon the cold, cold world I 'm thrown, 

To hammer out my living. 

I fear that work before me lies : 

Indeed, I see no option, 



ME A CULPA. 43 

Unless, perhaps, I advertise 
" An orphan — for adoption ! " 

A legacy of misspent time 

Is all that I 'm the heir to ; 

I cannot make my life sublime, 

However much I care to. 

And if, as now, I turn my head 

In retrospect a minute, 

'T is but to recognize my bed 

Before I lie down in it. 

I am the man that I have been. 
And at the final summing 
How shall I bear to see sent in 
My score, — one long shortcoming! 
Unless when all the saints exclaim. 
With righteous wrath, " Peccavit 1 " 
Some mighty friend shall make his claim, 
" He suffered, and — amavit ! " 



A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 

What is to be, I do not know ; 

What is, I do esteem 

To be so undesirable 

And worthless that I deem 

There must be something good in store, 

Something to keep in view, 

To reconcile us living here 

For living as we do. 

For life, — oh life, it seems a chore ; 

Its surface is so blurred 

By storms of passion that it makes 

One long to be interred ; 

To occupy a tranquil spot 

Some seven feet by two, 

And just serenely lie and rot. 

With nothing else to do. 



A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 45 

I think that when there ceased to be 

Sufficient tenement 

To hold my conscience, then I would 

Begin to be content. 

And if I should be there to see 

My stomach take its leave, 

I 'd gather up my mouldering shroud 

And chuckle in my sleeve. 

I think that when the greedy worm 

Began upon my brains, 

I 'd wish him luck, and hope he 'd get 

His dinner for his pains. 

I 'd warn him that they would be apt 

With him to disagree, 

For if they fed him well, 't were what 

They seldom did for me. 

But when I should be certain that 
My scarred and battered heart 



46 A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 

Was of my corpomlity 

Not any more a part, 

Though I 'd no voice, I 'd rattle in 

My throat with joyous tones, 

And, with no feelings left, I would 

Feel happy in my bones. 



IN THE ELYSIAN FIELDS: 

What I you here ? Why, old man, I never 

Felt more surprise, or more delight. 

Who would have dreamt that you would ever 

Parade around in robes of white? 

I always thought of you as dodging 

The coals and fire-brands somewhere else ; 

And here you are, with board and lodging, 

Where not so much as butter melts. 

Well, well, old man, if you can stand it 

Up here, I '11 never make a fuss. 

I had forebodings that they 'd planned it 

A little stiff for men like us. 

The boys were much cut up about you, 

You got away so very quick ; 

And as for me, to do without you — 

It absolutely made me sick. 



48 IN THE ELY SI AN FIELDS. 

I wish you could have seen us plant you, 
Why, every man squeezed out a tear. 
And just, imagine us, — now can't you ? — 
The gang, and yours the only bier ! 
Fred hammered out some bully verses ; 
We had them printed in the sheet, 
With lines funereal as hearses 
Around them. Oh, it did look sweet ! 

Halloo ! Is that Sir Walter Raleigh ? 

I wish you 'd point the people out : 

I want to look at Tom Macaulay ; 

Is Makepeace anywhere about? 

Where 's Socrates ? Where 's Sydney Carton ?■ 

Oh, — I forgot : he was a myth. 

If there 's a thing I 've set my heart on, 

It is to play with Sydney Smith. 

What ? Glad I came ? I am, for certain ; 
The other 's a malarious hole ; 



IN THE ELY SI AN FIELDS. 49 

I always pined to draw the curtain, 
And, somehow, knew I had a soul. 
The flesh, — oh, was n't it a fetter ? 
You 'd get so tired of all your schemes. 
But here I think I '11 like it better ; 
Oh dear, how natural it seems ! 

4 



A SECOND THOUGHT. 

This world 's the worst I ever saw ; 
I 'd like to make it better. 
I 'm going to promulgate the law, 
And hold men to its letter. 

Be respectable, and stand 

Esteemed of Mrs. Grundy ; 

Attend to business week-days, and 

Head moral books on Sunday. 

On Sabbath-keepers, every one, 
Approvingly I smile, and 
Frown on those who spend their Sun- 
Days down at Coney Island, 

Don't play cards, young man ; Gobanj 

Affords amusement ample. 

Speak carefull}^, eschewing slang, 

And set a good example. 



A SECOND THOUGHT. 51 

The theatres, — how bad they be ! 
The players, — oh, how vicious ! 
The waltz I shudder when I see, 
And think it most pernicious. 

Shun the wine-cup : don't be led 

To drink by scoff or banter ; 

In the cup lurk pains of head, 

And snakes in the decanter. 

Ah rae ! I wonder if I 'm right ! 

I say it 's wrong to do so, 

As though, without a soul in sight, 

I ruled alone, like Crusoe. 

Is it that I am partly wrong. 
And partly right, my neighbor, 
-And that we get, who toil so long, 
Half truths for all our labor ? 



A PRACTICAL QUESTION. 

Darkly the humorist 
Muses on fate ; 
Ghastly experiment 
Life seems to him ; 
Subject for merriment 
Sombre and grim. 
Is it his doom, or is 't 
Something he ate ? 



ET TU, BERGHE! 

And art thou, Bergh, so firmly set 
Against domestic strife 
As to correct with stripes the man 
Who disciplines his wife ? 

Such action does not of thy creed 
Appear the normal fruit : 
Thou shouldst befriend a being who 
Behaves so like a brute ! 



INSOMNIA. 

Come, vagrant sleep, and close the lid 
Upon the casket of my thought ! 
Come, truant, come when thou art bid, 
And let thyself be caught ! 

For lonely is the night, and still. 
And, save my own, no breath I hear ; 
No other mind, no other will, 
Nor heart, nor hand, is near. 

Thy waywardness what prayer can move? 
Canst thou by any lui-e be brought ? 



INSOMNIA. 55 

Or art tliou, then, like woman's love, 
That only comes unsought ? 

Up! Where 's my dressing-gown? My pipe is 

here. 
Slumber be hanged ! Now for a book and beer. 



CIVIL SERVICE. 

On Pennsylvania Avenue 

He stood and waited for a car; 

He turned to catch a parting view 

Of where the Public Buildings are. 

He looked at them with thoughtful eye; 

He took his hat from off his head ; 

He heaved a half-regretful sigh, 

And thus he said : 

" My relative, I do the bidding 
Of Fate, and say to thee good-by. 
I think thee fortunate at ridding 
Thyself of such a clerk as I. 
Thy sure sujDport, though somewhat meagre, 
Hath much about it to commend ; 
Nor am I now so passing eager 
To leave so provident a friend. 



CIVIL SERVICE. bl 

" Light was tliy yoke, could I have borne it 
With tranquil mind and step sedate : 
Why did my feeble shoulders scorn it, 
And seem to crave a heavier -weie-ht ? 
Extremely blest is his condition 
Whose needs thy bounteous hands supply, 
If he but fling away ambition. 
And let the world go rushing by. 

" Indocilis pauperiem pati, 

I must get out of this damp spot. 
Away ! away ! Whatever fate I 
May have in store, I fear it not. 
Away from all my soul despises. 
From paltry aims, from sordid cares ; 
Fame, honor, love, time's richest prizes, 
Lie waiting for the man who dares. 

'• The man who calls no man his master, 
Nor bows his head to tinsel gods; 



58 CIVIL SERVICE. 

Who f.aces debt, disease, disaster, 
And never murmurs at the odds, 
Although his life from its beginning 
Marks only fall succeeding fall, — 
Let him fight on, and trust to winning 
In death the ricliest prize of all." 

He jammed his hat down on his head ; 
He turned from where tlie Buildings are ; 
Precipitately thence he fled. 
And caught a passing car. 



ALL OR NOTHING. 

Happy the man whose far remove 
From business and the giddy throng 
Fits him in the paternal groove 
Unquestioning to glide along; 
Apart from struggle and from strife, 
Content to live by labor's fruits, 
And wander down the vale of life 
In o-iiiffliam shirt and cowhide boots. 

He too is blest who, from within 
By strong and lasting impulse stirred, 
Faces the turmoil and the din 
Of rushing life ; whom hope deferred 
But more incites ; who ever strives. 
And wants, and works, and waits, until 
The multitude of other lives 
Pay glorious tribute to his will. 



60 



ALL OR NOTHING. 



But he ■who, greedy of renown, 
Is too tenacious of his ease, — 
Alas for him ! Nor busy town 
Nor country with his mood agrees. 
Eager to reap, but loath to sow, 
He longs monstrari digito ; 
And looking on with envious eyes, 
Lives restless, and obscurely dies. 




A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE. 

To the fathers in council 't was Witherspoon spoke 

"Our best beloved dogmas we cannot revoke. 

God's infinite mercy let others record, 

And teach men to trust in their crucified Lord; 

The old superstitions let others dispel ; 

I feel it my duty to go in for hell. 

» Perdition is needful ; beyond any doubt 
Hell fire is a thing that we can't do without. 
The bottomless pit is our very best claim ; 
To leave it unworked were a sin and a shame: 
We must keep it up, i£ we like it, or not, 
And make it eternal, and make it red hot. 

« To others the doctrine of love may be dear ; 
I own I confide in the doctrine of fear: 



62 A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERIIOUSE. 

There's nothing, I think, so effective to make 
Our weak fellow-creatures their errors forsake. 
As to tell them abruptly, with unchanging front, 
' You '11 be damned if you do ! You '11 be damned 
if you don't ! ' 

"Saltpetre and pitchforks, with brimstone and coals 

Are arguments suited to rescue men's souls. 

A new generation forthwith must arise. 

With Beelzebub pictured before their young eyes : 

They '11 be brave , they '11 be true, they '11 be 

gentle and kind, 
Because they have Satan forever in mind." 



THROWING STONES. 

«I LOVE my child," the actress wrote. 

" My duty is to guide 
The child I bore, and in my arms 
The child I love shall hide: • 
Shall hide from missiles cast at me, 
Because I have so odd 
A conscience that I choose to rear 
The child I took from God." 

There is a sin from which us all 

May gracious Heaven guard ; 

Which is its own worst punishment, 

Itself its sole reward. 

And of it social law has said 

To man, "If sin you must, 



64 THROWING STONES. 

Go, then ! And come again, but leave 
The woman in the dust ! " 

Ah ! who can know, save Him Allwise 

Who watches from above, 

The awful hazard women dare 

To run for men they love? 

Or tell how many a craven heart, 

To shield his own bad name, 

Has caused a woman's trustful love 

To bring her lasting shame? 

To her who, wlien the dream has passed, 

Finds herself left alone, . 

And in her crushed, repentant heart 

A j^earning to atone, 

Heaven, more merciful than man, 

Who erst upon her smiled, 

By love to win her to itself 

May send a little child. 



THROWING STONES. 65 

Then, if the lonely mother's heart 
Accepts the gracious gift, 
And if the charge she dared to take 
She does not dare to shift ; 
Shall "we, un tempted and untried, 
To ease and virtue bom, 
Visit u[)on her shrinking head 
Our unrelentino; scorn? 

We, who have all our lives been taught 

Truths other men have learned, 

And walked by Avhat celestial light 

In other bosoms burned ; 

We, whose sublimest duty is 

To do as we are bid, — 

How shall we judge a soul from which 

The face of God is hid? 

Know you the loneliness of heart 
That courts release from Death? 
5 



66 THROWING STONES. 

That makes it burdensome to draw- 
Each slow, successiN'B breath ? 
That longs for human sympathy, 
Until, when hope is lost, 
A respite from its agony 
It buys at any cost ? 

Of erring human nature we 
Ave born each with his share : 
We all are vain ; we all are weak, 
And quick to fly from care ; 
And if we keep our footing, 
Or seem to rise at all, 
'T were well for us with charity 
To look on those who fall. 

And if our hands are strengthened. 
And if our lips can speak, 
'T were well if with them we might help 
Our brothers who are weak; 



THROWING STONES. 67 

And well if we remember 
God's love is never grudged, 
And never sit in judgment, 
If we would not be judged. 




olicHi|vl^J3oTro]H. 



THINK that I have somewhere read 
Abovit a man, whose foolish head, 
By mischievous intention led, 
A sprite 
Had with an ass's visage decked. 
That all who met him might detect 
His intellectual defect 

At sight. 



TOUCHING BOTTOM. 69 

The trite remark of man and book, 
That many men are men in look, 
But donkeys really, thus the spook 

Reversed. 
The victim of the imp's design 
Had such a head as yours or mine. 
Although his did look asinine 

At first. 

But Love — I think the story rail' — 
Was proof against the fairy's plan. 
Discerning, through the mask, the man, 

Perhaps ; 
Or is it true that women try 
But very faintly to descry 
Long ears on heads that occupy 

Their laps? 

I know a youth whose fancy gropes 
For head-gear finer than the Pope's; 



70 TOUCHING BOTTOM. 

So him his bright and treacherous hopes 

Delude. 
But in the mirror of his fears 
When this too sanguine person peers, 
Alas! behold the jackass ears 

Protrude ! 

To him it happens, now and then. 
That over products of his pen 
He cackles, as o'er eggs the hen 

Who lays. 
To find that to another's ear 
His cherished sentiments appear, 
Not utterances strong and clear. 

But braj's. 

Titania mine, if I could find 
You ever to my follies blind, 
Such deep content would rule my mind 

Within 



TOUCHING BOTTOM. 



71 



That, even though myself aware 
Of pointed ears adorned witli hair, 
I do not think that I should care 

A pin. 




HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 

It was my happy lot to meet, 

Upon a late occasion, 

While seeking of the summer's heat 

Agreeable evasion, 

By visiting at a resort 

Of fashion, — where, no matter, — 

A maid whom there was none to court, 

And very few to flatter. 

Her head had not the graceful poise 
Of Aphrodite's statue; 
Her hair reminded you of boys, 
Her nose was pointed at you. 
A Derby hat, the self-same sort 
The fashionable male owes 
Money for, she used to sport, 
As angels do their haloes. 



HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. T3 

She seldom walked in silk attire, 

But commonly in flannel ; 

Nor yet in oils did she aspire 

To figure on a panel : 

Because she could not help but see 

She was not tall nor slender; 

Nor did she deem her curves to be 

Superlatively tender. 

Some prudish dames did her abuse 
With censure fierce and scathing, 
Because she, happening to lose 
Her stocking while in bathing, 
Deemed such a loss of little note. 
And made no fuss about it ; 
But tied the stocking round her throat, 
And reappeared without it. 

I do not think that for the pelf 
Of eligible boobies, 



74 IIONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 

Or for the chance to deck herself 

With diamonds and rubies, 

Or for her standing in the books 

Of prim and proper ladies, 

Or for their disapproving looks, 

Siie cared a hoot from Hades. 

Though competent to hold her tongue, 
When circumstance demanded 
Speech, she was, for one so young, 
Astonishingly candid. 
She sang tlie cheerfullest of songs, 
Which, sung by her, were funny ; 
And never brooded on her wrongs. 
Or hoarded up her money. 

'T is true, this careless damsel's fame 
At last grew rather shady. 
But if the man disposed to name 
Her fast, or not a lady, 



HON I SO IT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 75 

Permits his strictures to be aired 
Where I can overhaul him, 
The present writer is prepared 
To strict account to call him. 




"My laundress! my laundress! she causes me dis- 
tress, 

And woe, and anguisli infinite, and endless bitter- 
ness." 

'Twas thus, with fingers in his hair, exclaimed the 
Muse's scion. 



HIS WASHERWOMAN. 77 

And gazed upon — the night was fair — Arcturus 
and Orion. 

" Her bill she has sent in to me. What shall my 
cares dispel? 

For how to pay that small account I cannot, can- 
not tell! 

" My laundress ! my laundress ! When first for me 

she washed, 
My brow was smooth, my eye was clear, my soul 

was unabashed ; 
And when she came to get my clothes my manner 

was urbane. 
And I looked up and smiled, and asked if it were 

going to rain ; 
And she with all humility her eyes to mine would 

raise, 
Then, glancing at the clouds, would murmur, ' Yes, 

sor, av ye plaze !' 



78 HIS WASHERWOMAN. 

" My laundress ! my laundress ! Her ways are al- 
tered now, 

And when she comes for clothes she comes with 
scorn upon her brow; 

With eyes downcast upon my book, I sit absorbed 
and still, 

Until she says, ' Young man, I 'd loike the money 
fur me bill: 

Me childer has no shoes to wear, me rint is overdue. 

Pay up, young man, and I '11 not be a troublin' of 
you!' 

" My laundress ! my laundress ! She sends a shad- 
owy boy 

To watch me mornings while I sleep, and damp my 
rising joy ; 

And when I wake from tranquil dreams and inno- 
cent repose, 

That small gossoon beside my bed is sitting on my 
clothes. 



HIS WASHERWOMAN. 79 

He only says ' Miss Grady 'd loike the money, sor, 

to-day.' 
I, speechless, tur a toward the wall; he, silent, goes 

away. 

" I '11 go and see my laundress, and speak the 
truth unmasked ; 

I *11 tell her how impossible a favor she has asked ; 

I '11 say that I am penniless, and if I put up spout 

As much of my effects as I could get along with- 
out, 

The sum that I would realize upon them would 
amount 

To only one poor third of what is due on her ac- 
count. 

" I '11 say I sometimes contemplate absconding from 
the place, 

But that I 'ra not a scoundrel scamp, like Thack- 
eray's Deuceace ; 



80 HIS WASHERWOMAN. 

And tliough I cannot pay her bill, I will not run 

away ; 
And then I 'II listen patiently to what she has to 

say. 
And when vituperation has taken off the edge 
Of her just wrath, I '11 speak, and thus I '11 put 

myself in pledge. 

" I '11 say, ' You have a daughter ; I know she is not 

fair. 
But never for mere looks did I particularly care. 
I often have remarked her, as, when the day was 

fine, 
She went with sprightly grace to hang my clothes 

upon the line ; 
And oft have I addressed her, and, though her 

speech was curt, 
I learned to love her, as she fixed a clothespin on 

my shirt ! 



HIS WASHERWOMAN. 



81 



"'I'll cultivate your daughter; I'll woo her with 

an art 
That shall not fail to quickly make impression on 

her heart ; 
And when her young affections with subtlety I 've 

won, 
I trust that you, dear madam, will receive me as 

your son. 
The duties that devolve on me I '11 never try to 

shirk, 
And what I cannot pay in cash you shall receive 

in work.' " 







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